lished by this time that there was no need for him to tour
the ports, and increasing work kept him ever closer to his desk in
Peking. Never was a man, I think, who lived a quieter or more orderly
life, or who had less recreation in his days. He went little
into society; when he did, his rare appearances were immensely
remarked--much as the passage of a comet might have been--and if he
made a visit, it was talked of with pride all through the community.
Indeed, the hostess who could say "The I.G. took tea with me to-day,"
was something of a heroine. He read much and wrote prodigiously,
sending out--and receiving too--the mail of a Prime Minister.

One extravagance, and only one, did he permit himself--I am thinking
of his private band. Yet even that he did not deliberately seek. The
idea came to him unexpectedly, put into his head by the Commissioner
of Customs at Tientsin, who wrote one day that he had among his
subordinates the very man for a bandmaster. Pathetic derelict, a
bandmaster without a band! Acting upon a sudden inspiration--perhaps
with some subtle intuition of the important part the music was to play
in the life of the community in after years, and of all the pleasure
it was to give--the I.G. sent money from his private purse to buy
instruments and music, though until that moment the idea of a band in
Peking had seemed infinitely remote if not utterly preposterous.

[Illustration: SIR ROBERT HART'S BAND IN THE EARLY 'NINETIES, BEFORE
IT HAD GROWN TO ITS PRESENT SIZE.

Playing on the lawn in front of his house.]

Some dozen promising young Chinese were at once collected and
initiated into the complicated mysteries of chords and keys. They
learned quickly and well--so well that within a year eight of them
were ready to come up to the capital and teach others. A doubtful
venture became an assured success. More and more players were added;
a promising barber, lured, perhaps, by the playing of his friend's
flute, abandoned his trade and set to work on the 'cello; or a
shoemaker, forsaking his last, devoted himself to the cornet. The
neighbouring tailor laid aside his needle; the carter left his cart,
bewitched away from everyday things by the music. It may be the smart
uniform had something to do with the popularity of the organization;
there is ever a fine line between art and vanity--but why dwell upon
an ignoble motive?

Suffice it to say, whether from pure conceit or better things, the
little company g